


As Your Solitude Subsides

by infinitevariety (disapparater)



Series: Summer Omens [15]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Fluff and Humor, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Summer Omens (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27388126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disapparater/pseuds/infinitevariety
Summary: Aziraphale tries to enjoy some time to himself. Crowley isn’t helping.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Summer Omens [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1836280
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	As Your Solitude Subsides

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Summer Omens prompt RELAX and originally posted [here](https://infinitevariety.tumblr.com/post/633879412674330624/relax).

With a cup of tea on his desk, some Bach playing on the gramophone, a good book in his hands, and Crowley out for the afternoon, Aziraphale takes a breath and _relaxes_.

It takes a considerable amount of his time to look after his books, including their general care and upkeep, organisation, and not selling any. Then there are the meals out, trips to the countryside, and nights in with Crowley. Plus the occasional trips further a field for choice blessings and such ( _choice_ being the operative word, now Aziraphale is a free agent). It all takes its toll, and Aziraphale doesn’t get as many opportunities as he would like to take some time for himself.

Sometimes what he wants— _needs_ —to do is let go of all his obligations and take some time for himself. A long hot soak in the bath, an afternoon wandering The National Gallery, or, like today, a peaceful afternoon with a book.

Fate, it seems, has other ideas.

The bell above the bookshop door rings only a second before the door rebounds off the wall with a resounding bang. Aziraphale literally jumps in his seat, fingers tightening around his book. He looks up to see Crowley charging through the door, across the shop, and into the small kitchen. He is muttering and swearing under his breath and radiating tension.

“Everything alright?” ventures Aziraphale.

“Only got bloody malt vinegar, and that won’t do.” Cupboards are pulled open and slammed closed as Crowley speaks loud enough for Aziraphale to hear. “Ah!” he cries, before there is the final slam of a cupboard. “I’m just going to borrow this.” Crowley is holding up a bottle of white vinegar.

Without further fuss Crowley passes back through the shop and out the front door, which closes swiftly behind him.

Aziraphale sits for a moment, all the calmness he has carefully cultivated firmly disintegrating. He pushes down the unsettled feelings brimming inside of him. Instead, he reaches for patience as he reaches for his tea. Taking a sip, he pulls a face. In the time it has taken Crowley to blow through the shop like a tornado, his tea has gone from a the perfect temperature to tepid.

Heaving himself from the chair with a sigh, Aziraphale goes to the kitchen to make himself a fresh cup. The kitchen, of course, is a mess. Pots and pans, tins of tea leaves and jars of dried food litter the counter. Aziraphale takes 20 minutes and tidies up, putting everything back where it should be, before making himself another cup of tea.

As he lowers himself back into his chair, steaming cup of tea in hand, Aziraphale lets himself relax into the seat. It’s fine. He still has plenty of the day left. He will have time to himself.

Aziraphale has read thee pages and is about to turn a fourth when the bookshop door opens again. Thankfully with less aggression this time. Crowley strides over and collapses on the sofa.

“Hi, angel,” he says before pulling out his phone and scrolling.

Aziraphale blinks.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out and about doing—” Aziraphale isn’t actually sure _what_ it is Crowley said he’d be doing, only that it involved not being at the bookshop… and white vinegar, apparently. “—something?”

“Yeahhhh.” Crowley draws out the word without looking up from his phone. “Didn’t pan out.”

“So, you’re back?” The calmness that Aziraphale has been nurturing freezes, heavy and uncertain in his chest.

“Mmmm,” hums Crowley.

For a few minutes, Aziraphale simply sits, waiting. Expecting Crowley to talk to him, engage him and demand his attention. When he doesn’t, the heavy uncertainty in Aziraphale’s chest eases slightly.

He can make this work.

Crowley being there changes the atmosphere considerably, but not necessarily in a bad way. If he remains occupied on his phone, Aziraphale can let himself be occupied with his book. He can still relax.

Aziraphale picks up his cup of tea—still hot, this time—and opens his book.

Five minutes. He gets five minutes.

“Ha! Oh, that’s good.” Crowley is looking at something on his phone.

Aziraphale pauses, unsure whether Crowley expects a response or wants to share whatever is so amusing with him. When nothing further comes, Aziraphale goes back to his book.

“Look at this, angel.”

Crowley turns his phone in Aziraphale’s direction and stretches across the space between them. Aziraphale looks at the screen, which shows an image of an elderly lady looking at what appears to be a computer. There are also some words about cookies.

“Yes?” he says, not really understanding.

“It’s a joke—because cookies are bits of computer data.”

“Oh, I see, yes. I can see why that would amuse you, my dear.”

Crowley grins at him, clearly pleased, before going back to his phone. Aziraphale fidgets in his chair and wishes _he_ had a cookie. He spares another glance at Crowley before getting back to his book.

By now, Aziraphale has given up on the idea of the genuine relaxation he has been hoping for. Maybe next week, if he doesn’t open the shop on Thursday and sends Crowley on an errand to the other side of London, he can sneak enough time to himself for a bath.

“Whatcha reading, angel?”

Aziraphale looks up to see Crowley, phone gone and fingers tapping on his knees. Bowing to the inevitable, Aziraphale slips a bookmark between the pages and puts the book down.

“Nothing, my dear.”

“Do you want to do something?”

“Sure, what were you thinking?”

“Early dinner? My treat.”

Aziraphale smiles. Crowley knows he can never turn down food.

“Well,” he admits, “there is a new fusion place in Kensington that we really should try.”

Crowley all but bounces up from the sofa and offers Aziraphale his arm.

“We already have a table booked—let’s go.”

Aziraphale stands and takes Crowley’s arm, letting himself be led from the shop.

Next week. Next week Aziraphale will find the time to truly relax by himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://infinitevariety.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
